From Childhood's Hour
by Nympha Fluminis
Summary: When Spencer Reid's father leaves him to care for his schizophrenic mother at age ten, he struggles to keep things from going under. A few years later, a man named Donny shows Spencer a new way to make ends meet on the streets of Las Vegas.
1. Chapter 1

**Beta:****doneitall **

**Word Count:** 15,860

**Pairings:** Reid/OMCs  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Warnings:** Rape/Non-con, dub-con, underage, prostitution  
**Author's Notes:** So much work has gone into this fic. I need to thank my beta, doneitall and my artist, Alynt, both of whom have been absolutely amazing, so much for working with me on this! I almost abandoned this story quite a few times. I'm honestly glad I didn't now. This deals with some very sensitive subject matters and shouldn't be read if any of the warnings are triggering to you. It is a complete fic, that I'll be posting when I can. It'll probably all be up by the end of the week. I've also cleaned this up a bit for Fanfiction... I orginally had it posted on LiveJournal, so if you want it in all it's glory, read it here- nympha-fluminis . livejournal ?mode=reply#add_comment (just remember to take out the spaces) **Disclaimer:** I do not own Criminal Minds, any of its or characters, or the poem "Alone" by Edgar Allen Poe.. This is made purely for entertainment, there is no profit  
**Summary:** When Spencer Reid's father leaves him to care for his schizophrenic mother at age ten, he struggles to keep things from going under. A few years later, a man named Donny shows Spencer a new way to make ends meet on the streets of Las Vegas._  
_

I can see the note shaking in my hands. I've read it over and over again... I should have memorized by now, but somehow, my mind refuses to comprehend what it says. I can only understand the last two lines and what they entail.

_Goodbye,  
~Your loving father_

Your loving father. Right. If you loved me so much the line before it wouldn't have said "Goodbye." If you loved me, you wouldn't be leaving me like this. You'd have an explanation. You'd have told me in person, not a note saying that you just couldn't take it anymore. You'd have told my mother so she could tell me. Not a note. Anything but a note signed, _'Goodbye, your loving father.' _No. You don't love me. You can't love me. You can't understand me. You wouldn't have left if you didn't love me, _father. _

I wish I could tell you that. I'll never see you again. You're probably long gone by now, possibly out of state. I doubt you'd stay in Nevada, let alone Vegas. Probably quit your job, gave them notice two weeks ago. You've probably been planning this awhile. Everything is timed so perfectly, _too _perfectly to be spur of the moment. You're a lawyer, too careful to leave any loop-holes.

"He's gone, isn't he?"

"Yes," I say. My mom is behind me. I'd completely forgotten about her in the world shattering thing that is this note in my hand. Although I know she's already seen me reading it, I shove it in my pocket. It's private. I don't want my mother to see it, and I can honestly say that that is the first time that's happened.

I try to hold my composure as she comes down the stairs towards me, I really do. I try and be strong, I am the man of the house now, the protector. I'm supposed to keep her safe from everything, any sort of pain. And this certainly counts as a pain. Tears start slowly running down my cheeks and no matter how many times I try and recite facts in my head or tilt my head up, they just keep on coming.

Then, I'm enveloped in hug. The tears come faster now, like somehow that one display of love broke the flood gates to my eyes. Which is ridiculous. It's irrational. Why should I be crying now? It's illogical. What will crying in my mother's arms do? It won't make me feel better. It won't make me any happier. It certainly won't bring my loving father back, so why do it?

Because I'm human. Because I can't help it, that's why. And doesn't that just sting. I can't even control my emotions. Logic, the one thing that I have in my corner at all times, is defeated by emotion when I need it most. Always is, supposedly. Pathos will always beat Logos, according to my mother.

I manage to calm down finally. And everything comes crashing down. Hard. The true implications of what my father leaving will do to my mom and I.

I'm ten years old. My mother is schizophrenic and can't work. Hasn't been able to for over a year now. I have no income, unless my father starts to pay us child support or something all of the sudden. Which he won't. He's not filing for divorce and seems to want a "clean" break... on his side at least. Our house isn't paid off. I can't pay bills.

I could get my mom to file for divorce, or even sue if I could find a case, but her background would be looked into, and people would see how severely schizophrenic she is. She'd be forcibly institutionalized in a state facility and I'd either be sent to my father who doesn't want me or foster care. God knows what would happen to me there...

That's not an option.

I stay up the rest of the night, plagued by thoughts of what to do now. The conclusion I finally come to is... nothing. Just waiting. Mostly because I can't think of anything else to do. Maybe in a month, an envelope from my father will come, bearing the house payment. Maybe a little extra. For now, we survive with what we have...

_Five Months Later_

An envelope from my father never showed up. House payments fell by the wayside and my mom and I were quickly evicted. At the moment, we live in a crappy apartment on the bad side of town. So bad that all payments are in cash and a ten year old was able set everything up. Nothing about this place is remotely legal.

I do odd-jobs for people to get any extra that we might need and we still have money left from before my father left. Hopefully, this living situation won't last long, anyways. When I'm sixteen, maybe even fifteen, I can get a better paying job. I'll graduate in a couple years, so I'll be able to work more and make more money.

At the moment, that's the most important thing in the world. Money. I never thought of it much before. In fact, I looked down upon people who thought about it too much. People who choose their future career based on the pay-grade. Now though, I realize that people who desire money, are those who don't have it. For the most part. Now, I want, no, I need money, more than anything else in the world.

I even considered dropping out of school. I lose time that I could be getting paid and the bullying alone is enough to make me want to quit, but my mom would have nothing with that. I think the guilt and sadness might finally kill her. So, I cut down on rations for myself and just try to pay the bills and keep my mother fed and content.

_Two Years Later_

I'm almost ready to graduate. Just four more months, and I'm done. That's all. I have a free period at the end of the day, which I usually choose to spend in the library. I'm rereading Battlefield: Earth for the third time and am nearing the end when I hear the library doors open. That almost never happens.

I glance up at the clock. 1:20... only one more minute until school lets out. Then, I look towards whoever walked through the door and my heart catches in my throat. Harper Hillman. And she walks straight over to me.

"Hey, Spencer," she says, with a smile as bright as the sun, showing her perfect white teeth.

"Umm, hi, H-harper," I awkwardly stutter. As always.

"What'cha readin'?" she asks, sounding so genuinely interested, that it's clear she couldn't care less.

"Nothing," I mumble, trying to stuff my book back into my book-bag. She catches a look anyways.

"Battlefield: Earth," she reads slowly. I feel myself blush and keep my head down as I try and gather my backpack as quickly as possible to leave the library, and beautiful, blonde, Harper Hillman behind. Of course, I trip and drop my bag.

"Oh, here Spencer, let me help you!" she says. She bends down and picks up my bag.

"Th-thanks," I say quietly, then reach out to take my bag.

"Oh, I've got it Spencer. Actually, Alexis wants to meet you behind the field house, so I'll just carry it for you." And with that, she happily bounces of with my bag, turning back once to see following. I rush off quickly once I gather my thoughts and stumble clumsily behind Harper. She has my backpack... what choice do I have? Plus, Alexis is the prettiest girl in school.

And, when we reach the field house, sure enough, Alexis with her perfectly curled, long brunette hair, and slightly tilted blue eyes was waiting... along with the entire football team and the rest of the school.

Alarms start to blare in my head, screaming to just get the hell away. And I listen. I turn heel and start to run as fast as I can, screw the backpack. But Matt Perryman's harsh hand on my shoulder stops me in my tracks. I can't move. His hand is almost as big as my head and he has no problem holding me in place.

"Thought you could have some fun with my girl, huh?" he asks, his voice gruff and low.

"N-no I was j-just following Har-harp-"

"Save it, shrimp," he interrupts. "Boys!" he yells.

He grabs my arms behind me, linking his through mine at the elbows and bending me at an angle that left me completely open and made it impossible to move.

"No!" I scream loudly. "No, please! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean- I didn't know... I sorry! Please don't!" Maybe some of my pitiful begging will get through to someone. It doesn't

Matt just laughs. "Maybe next time, you won't mess with my girl."

The first punch hits my stomach. I start to double over, even in the grip Matt has on me. The second one strikes in almost the exact same place and then the next one makes contact with my face. My glasses shatter and blood drips down from where the glass cuts me. Matt releases me and I fall to the ground in fetal position. They kick some more, then stop much more quickly than expected. Maybe it's over, I foolishly allow myself to hope.

They pull me to feet. I'm dizzy and everything is incredibly blurry. I retch and throw-up the little bit that's on my stomach and feel awful, covered in blood, tears, sweat, and now my own bile. The team laughs at me and I don't comprehend what's going on until I'm placed down in front of a goal post where I'd been carried.

Alexis Lisbon appears in front of me with a look of utter disgust on her face.

"Why would you possibly think I'd want something like you?" she sneers, then laughs. I hear laughs from everywhere else, too. I look up and realize that the entire school is gathered around where I'm standing, watching. More tears drip down my face. As bad as the boy's punches are, girls and their words are far far crueler.

Before anything else can happen, though, someone is restraining me again, but this time, rather than hitting me, they begin to remove my shoes. Then my socks. Someone else is at my shirt. Then it hits me what their doing. I start to scream and kick as loudly as I can, before I'm dragged to the ground and held by many hands and piece of balled up cloth (my socks?) is shoved violently in my mouth.

They make quick work of the rest of my clothes, then drag me back to my feet and up to the goal post. Someone walks up with rope... lots of rope. I struggle, to no avail, while my hands and feet are tied to the goalpost. I struggle and pull at the ropes with my hands and feet, but don't manage to do anything but bloody myself more.

"Please...," I beg, "stop. Please." I'm completely broken by now. I've given up and just continue to mindlessly beg and cry. I hear the click of cameras, but can't bring myself to care.

Eventually, everyone gets bored and leaves me, minus my clothes, tied up.

I doze for a hours, when a night janitor finds me and releases me. I take off running the second the ropes are gone, not ever thinking about the neighborhood I'm about to be running naked through.

I get a couple wolf-whistles and some particularly scary folks come up to me periodically, but I keep running blindly until I reach my mom and my apartment. I go past our landlord and into our room.

My mom is in the kitchen when I come in.

"Mom?" I ask quietly, wanting some form of comfort from her. Maybe demanding where I've been until she sees me. Calling the school and threatening people. A hug. Instead I get:

"Who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing in my house?"

I stumble back and run into the bathroom. This is nothing new; she only remembers me about half the time, but it hurts. Especially tonight.

I take care of the bloody wounds around my wrists and ankles. We don't have any Hydrogen Peroxide or even Isopropyl Alcohol, so I have to make due with Iodine. Which almost hurts worse than anything else I'd been through tonight.

I fall asleep on the bathroom floor, sobbing and covered in bandages, band-aids, and sweat.

I skip school the next morning and sleep most of the day. My mom doesn't notice. At four-thirty she goes out for a walk. They usually last about an hour and a half and she knows her way around well. Around five o'clock, though, there's a knock on the door.

"Hello?" I ask, opening the door. Our landlord, Donovan "Donny" Brown, was standing there. Shit.

"Is your mother home?" He always has this fake smile and greasiness about him. Like right now. He's very underhanded and I know for a fact he's involved in drug-dealing and prostitution and probably numerous other crimes. I never thought about it much.

"N-no," I say, then curse myself for telling the truth, rather than saying she was asleep or in the shower.

"I can talk to you then, Spencer," he practically purrs, pushing our weak door in and forcing my to step back into the house. "I need the money for the bills."

"I-I'm sorry, sir. I don't have it right now," I say politely, almost submissively, hoping it will convince him that I'm being honest and to leave me alone, "but, come back later! I promise, I promise it'll be here by the end of the week!" I open my eyes real wide, the look I use on my teachers on the rare occasion that I don't have my homework, and look as innocent as possible. Big mistake. Vulnerability might work on old English teachers, but it works a whole other way on predatory criminals and pimps.

"See, kid, that doesn't exactly work. But, I'd be willing to make a trade." His greasy smile gets even bigger and sends warning bells through my head. He steps even closer to me.

"A-A trade?" I ask, clueless. "What do you want?"

"I saw you last night, running home," he says with an evil grin. I blush, bright red. "You're a very pretty boy, kid. I'm sure we can think of something..."

He pushes me harshly to my knees. I'll never forget the first time I was violated, but it certainly wasn't my last.

_From childhood's hour I have not been_  
_ As others were; I have not seen_  
_ As others saw; I could not bring_  
_ My passions from a common spring._  
_ From the same source I have not taken_  
_ My sorrow; I could not awaken_  
_ My heart to joy at the same tone;_  
_ And all I loved, I loved alone._  
_ Then- in my childhood, in the dawn_  
_ Of a most stormy life- was drawn_  
_ From every depth of good and ill_  
_ The mystery which binds me still:_  
_ From the torrent, or the fountain,_  
_ From the red cliff of the mountain,_  
_ From the sun that round me rolled_  
_ In its autumn tint of gold,_  
_ From the lightning in the sky_  
_ As it passed me flying by,_  
_ From the thunder and the storm,_  
_ And the cloud that took the form_  
_ (When the rest of Heaven was blue)_  
_ Of a demon in my view._

_Alone~ Edgar Allan Poe_


	2. Chapter 2

_Four Years Later_

"Kid!" I hear from behind me. I huff and roll my eyes, then turn. Donny... not that I'd needed to see him to know who it was. I'd know Donny's voice anywhere.

"Yes?" I say, forcing myself to sound semi-polite. I really don't want to see him right now. Actually, I never want to see him, but right now more than ever.

I'm sixteen years old. My plan was to survive doing what I had to until then, than get a real job. That didn't work out so well. Turns out, Donny wasn't quite ready to let me stop whoring just yet. My jaw still hurts from the big resounding "NO" he'd given me when I'd asked.

"You got the cash?" he asks, in his harsh demanding tone. I want nothing more than to correct his grammar, but I learned pretty quickly that words like "do" and "have" weren't necessary anymore. Sounding unintelligent meant you were tough, I suppose. Which, actually made a decent amount of sense when you considered the idea that most intellectuals tended to not be physically outstanding or good in a fight, so eventually people and cultures would develop ways to simulate the sound of what they assumed as strong.

"Yeah," I answer. "I have your money." I, on the other hand, can't stand to speak with bad grammar. I guess that comes my mother, the lit teacher.

I fish in the pockets of my too small, threadbare jeans and pulled out a roll of bills, and counted out what I owe Donny. When I'd first started hustling for Donny, I tried to argue that it was my body being hurt and doing all the work and that I was paying Donny rent already, so I shouldn't have to give him a cent of my hard earned cash. That didn't go over too well and I never made that mistake again.

I was in bed for at least a week.

He carefully counts the bills one by one and I feel inexplicably anxious, worried that something will be missing, even though I know it's all good. Apparently Donny does too, because he grunts in satisfaction, and tucks the money into his pocket.

"Come 'ere, boy," he tells me gruffly. I know that tone. I know what he wants, and I don't like it anymore than I did the first time. I was twelve.

I go anyways and wait until he puts a hand on my shoulder and pushes me down to kneel and open his jeans. I don't cry or gag like I used to, but it still disgusts me: the manly heady smell and whole act in general.

When he finally comes and I swallow, he says "Good boy," with a pat on my head, then walks away. I wait for him to be out of sight and hearing distance before sticking a finger down my throat and throwing up, the same thing I do every time I'm forced to give a blow-job.

I hate my life. I hate my life so much, but I can't give up yet. I have responsibilities, and I have to take care of my mother. It's not fair; I should be in college, with professors and students and dorm rooms, and instead I whore myself like so many people in Las Vegas to take care of my mother and afford a few off-campus courses at the local university. But life isn't fair.

"Hey, kid!" I hear. I look up and see Evan, one of Donny's other "boys" as we're so affectionately known on the streets. He's older than me and more mature and tries to act like a parent. I don't actually know what Evan is to me. Not a parent.

"Hi Evan," I greet, standing up and trying my best to look like I hadn't just leaned over and purposefully thrown up everything currently in my stomach. He never likes it when I do that. It didn't work. Evan just glanced at the bile and then up at me and the smell I was currently exuding.

"Spencer," he starts disapprovingly. "Kid, you can't do that. I know it sucks, trust me, but you can't just get rid of all your food. It's stupid."

"Fuck you, Evan. I don't need a damn lecture," I tell him. "You don't have a right to tell me what I can't do."

"Yeah, I do, kid," he says annoyingly. "You're killin' yourself. You won't survive if you refuse to keep anything on your stomach."

"If the only thing I can keep in my stomach is cum, I'll die first."

"And I'm sure six years ago you'd have said you would die before selling your body," Evan says harshly. "Besides, that's not what I mean. I agree, it's gross as fuck when you gotta swallow, but you've been eatin' other things too, and when you throw up their nasty cum, you're also throwing up your last meal that you ate and dehydrating yourself. You're tiny enough already. Don't want you gettin' any skinnier than you already are." He gives me a cursory look up and down, which makes me feel inexplicably self-conscious every time.

I glance up at Evan, trying to find flaw in his argument, but before I can, Evan continues, "Besides, weren't you the one telling me about Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs or whatever? You have to be safe and alive before you can worry about happiness and self-realization?"

"Self actualization, but yeah. Anyways, that's a theory, a psychological argument, but, like all psychological arguments, can't be proven."

Evan just glares at me.

"Look, Spencer," he says impatiently, "if you won't do it for yourself, do it for me. You're fuckin' tiny." He pokes me in the ribs at that, and I stumble backwards, barely able to keep my balance. "See that? That's what I'm talking about. You can't even fucking stand on your own feet and I can see those bony little ribs of yours."

I want to cry at his blunt description of me, for some reason, what Evan thinks of me has always been so much more important than what any one else does. Dependency, I suppose. I look up at his deep blue eyes for a moment to see if he'll back down from the argument and tell me that he's exaggerating, but he continues to just look at me.

"Fine," I (reluctantly) promise. "I'll be safer next time."

"Good," Evan tells me. "You're too young for this."

"I'm not that much younger than you!" I protest angrily. I hate when he treats me like a child.

"Yeah, kid, ya kinda are. Six years... That's pretty nice age difference."

"I'm not a kid!" I protest again.

"You're sixteen," Evan says helpfully, "you're a kid."

"Am not!" I demand. "I'm a teenager."

"See? Only kids say that."

I stick my tongue out at him, but he just laughs. I have to admit, though, he has a good point about not forcing myself to throw up. He's had a good point for a long time; ever since I started he's gotten on to me about it, but no matter how much I try, I can't. It's disgusting to me, being forced to keep the memory of your rape with you simply to survive. I hate it. I hate my life.

Evan walks home with me, and he comes in behind me. He stays in the apartment more often than not. To keep safe and all. I owe him more than I feel I can ever repay. He's kept me safe, taught me how to find food, helped me after difficult jobs, and shown me how to keep the johns happy.

Mom is asleep on the ratty old couch in the living room when we come in. The windows are closed and boarded up and I can tell from the state of the living room and kitchen that it's been a bad day.

I quietly walk down the hall and grab a blanket and pillow and carefully cover my mother with the blanket before placing her head gently on the pillow.

It's almost three in the morning and so I decide it's time to turn in. Evan and I head back to my room and we curl up on the bed together. The first time this happened, I was twelve and he was eighteen and I'd just had my first real trick. Looking back, I realize that Donny had actually set me up with a fairly gentle guy for my first time, but I was still twelve and hurt. He'd left me at the corner where Donny usually has us meet our tricks...

I curled up on the ground in fetal position, sobbing. I hurt so bad! Why would anyone want to do that to a person?

'Hey, kid,' I heard. I didn't acknowledge the voice.'Hey, you okay?' I felt a hand gently touch my shoulder. 'What's the matter?'

I looked up finally at a man, maybe eighteen, he seemed to be the age of the kids in my class. He had dark, almost black, hair and dark blue eyes. He was really handsome and looked more mature and grown up than the kids I'd known in my senior year.

'What's your name?' he asked when I didn't answer any of his other questions.

'Sp-spencer,' I quietly whisper, 'Spencer Reid.'

'What're you doin' out here, Spencer?' he asked.

'I was dropped off and I- I should go home, b-but I kinda hurt.'

'Dropped off?' he asked, sounding confused. 'By who?'

'Whom," I corrected automatically. 'By whom.'

He looked amused and annoyed at the same time. 'Okay, by whom?'

'I- I don't really know his name-'

'Why were you with him, kid? You shouldn't talk to strangers.'

'You're a stranger," I pointed out.

'True. You probably shouldn't talk to me except for that I'm tryin' to help you,' he answered. 'But you still haven't told me why you were with a stranger.'

'Well, Donny-'

That was apparently enough for him to understand. He cursed under his breath and ran his hand through his hair.

'How old are you kid?'

'Tw-twelve," I stuttered.

'And you're hooking?'

'I d-don't know what that means..." I admitted, embarrassed.

'You're so innocent,' he said in an almost adoring way, but I couldn't figure out why. 'I'm gonna take you home, alright? My name is Evan. Can you tell me where you live?' He was bent down next to me and pushed some of my curls out of my face, like my mom used to do for me when I was little and she was lucid, before I'd fall asleep.

I nodded and rattled off my address. 'I know the place,' Evan told me. 'It's the apartments that Donny owns, right?'

I nodded my head and was shocked when I felt Evan place one arm under my knees and one under my neck to pick me up bridal style.

'Hey!' I protested fairly weakly. 'Put me down! I can walk!'

'Geez, kid, you don't hardly weigh a thing!' he commented. 'When was the last time you ate?'

'Um... I don't remember,' I answered.

He sighed again. 'First thing tomorrow, you're getting a good meal in your stomach, alright?'

I nodded once more.

He, to my embarrassment, carried me all the way into my apartment and wouldn't put me down until we were in my room and he laid me on my bed. Once I was in bed and laid down, he pulled off his shoes and started to climb in next to me.

'What- what're you doing?' I asked, sensing that something was off.

'I'm stayin' here tonight,' he answered, 'to keep you safe or whatever.' I looked at him skeptically, but moved over to let him in. He rolled me over so we were face-to-face and cuddled me in his arms. I stiffened, but didn't pull back. I was hoping he would sense I didn't want to be held, but if he did, he didn't show it, only held me tighter and pulled me closer.

As we were laying there, I got more and more uncomfortable. I thought about pulling out of his arms, but he'd done so much for me... Still, I could tell something was off. Then, he leaned towards me and kissed me, right on the lips.

I gasped and jerked away. 'D-don't-' I stuttered. I didn't want that. The man earlier started with a kiss, and got further after that it hurt so very bad. I didn't want this from him

'Shh," he whispered in my ear. 'I've helped you a lot tonight and I'm going to help you more tomorrow. Remember? I'm getting you food when you wake up? You can give this one thing surely? I'm not asking for much. Just a kiss. It'd be selfish for me to do all this for you, and you give nothing in return.'

I felt bad immediately. He had done so much for me. I could give him one little kiss, couldn't I? He was right; It was selfish not to. So, I nodded my head once again, and shyly pressed my lips against his.

He grabbed the back of my head roughly and I whimpered as he sped up the kiss, to the point that it was almost violent. I started trying to pull back and tell him to slow down, then realized that that would be unappreciative and selfish.

We kissed for a lot longer until he pulled back, then flipped me around so my back was towards his chest and held me tightly against him.

I shake the memory off myself and focus on Evan behind me nibbling at my ear and draping his arms over me.

"Evan, hey, Ev," I try to shake him off of me, "Please, not tonight. I-I'll make it up to you later. Just, not right now."

He chuckles lightly and continues to kiss and touch me.

"Seriously, Evan!" I say rolling my shoulders to try and get him off me. "I'm really not in the mood."

He backs off and seems angry. "You're not in the mood?" he says dangerously. I turn over and look at him and realize that I've said something wrong.

"Evan, I'm sorry, I just-"

"Well, I really wasn't in the mood to help your little ass when you were twelve and crying out on the streets. Or when you couldn't eat. Or when your mom had an attack and you needed a place to stay. You'll put out for all those johns for a couple of bucks and Donny for nothin' but with all I do for you, you're not in the mood?!" he yells.

"That's not- Evan, please!" I start to beg, when he begins getting up and out of bed.

"You know what, Spencer Reid. Fuck you. You're on your own."

"No," I say brokenly. I can't lose Evan. Not to my own stupidity and ungratefulness. "Please, Evan. I'm sorry." I get out of bed and come to him. "I'm sorry. I'm stupid and selfish and unappreciative and..." I start crying and clutching desperately at him. "I'm sorry."

I start to kiss him and trail down his stomach leaving little kisses as I go, until I reach his pants. I undo them, and start trying to get him off with my mouth, but before he gets more than semi-hard, but pulls me off.

"Nuh-uh, Spencer. I don't want to come there tonight," he says harshly. But I still smile because even if he doesn't want a blow-job and is pissed at me, he's gonna give me another chance.

"Of course!" I say, probably way over the top happy, my god, I'm so clingy! How does he stand me? But I continue anyways. "How- how do you want me?"

"Hands and knees," he commands coldly. I obey and wait nervously for him. He doesn't take long, and it takes me a second to realize that he's already lining his cock up, without any preparation. Sure, I mean, I've taken guys like that before but it always hurts and I'm always left damaged afterwards. But, I decide I can give this to Evan. I owe it to him.

I bury my face in my pillow and wait for him to finish. It hurts, but I manage to distract myself, to go somewhere else.

"Love you, baby," he whispers in my ear, when he's finished. "You just gotta do what I say sometimes though, ya know? I only want to keep you safe. But, you know I love you, right?"

"I-I know," I stutter, and I do. "Love you, too."


	3. Chapter 3

I wake up the next morning sore, sticky, and and surrounded by Evan's arms. I feel gross, but it's okay: Evan likes me again. Donny won't be too happy, but I don't imagine the state of my ass is going to stop him from setting me up with whoever he wants.

I roll over in Evan's arms, and and look at him. He really is handsome in a cold sort of way. His face is pale, yet blemish-less, and his hair falls perfectly in his face. He's taller than me, and broader. Not quite muscular or buff even, but he's better built and not as awkward as I am.

His eyes, though, are what are really shocking. The darkest shade of blue I've ever seen in an eye, yet still... Cold, I suppose. He's a got a cold, alluring beauty to him. Unlike me. I'm warm, and young, and innocent looking as so many men have told me. I hate it. If I didn't look the way I look, my life could be completely different. If I weren't so "sweet", and "innocent", there wouldn't be so many pot-bellied men lining up to fuck me.

I try to climb out of bed as gently, and quietly as possible, so as to not wake Evan, but it doesn't work.

"Mmmm," he groans as he slowly wakes, and and unconsciously tightens his grip on me.

"Good morning, Evan," I whisper. "I'm about to get in the shower, so if you could." I squirm a bit, and gesture at myself held tightly in his arms.

"Mm," he groans again. "Shower sounds nice, Spency." I make a face. I hate being called 'Spency.' It makes me sound like a little kid.

Evan just laughs at my sour expression, and sits up. He stretches his arms above him, showing off his amazingly toned body. It makes me blush in embarrassment. I don't know why he would ever like me. Evan could do so much better...

He shoots me a charming grin, and wink, and says, "So, how about that shower?"

I smile shyly, and nod. He jumps up energetically, and and pulls me out of bed making me wince at the sudden movement, and and realize that I might be more hurt than I thought.

"Ah, shit, Spencer, how rough was I last night?" he asks sounding concerned.

"Not- Not too rough," I answer quietly. Evan just looks at me.

"Kid, tell me honestly, how bad is it."

"Well, I guess it hurts pretty badly, and, uh, I think there, uh, might be some bl-blood?" I trail off embarrassed at the end, making it more a question than a statement.

"Turn around," Evan commands. I blush, and and try to do everything, but turn around. That would just be too embarrassing. "Now, Spencer."

I finally obey, and turn so my back is facing him. I can feel the heat in my cheeks, and and know that my face must be bright red.

Evan reaches to me, and pushed my forwards until I'm bent over the bed, and he bends down so he can see my ass. If it's possible, I blush even more. I've always hated this position. I feel so helpless.

"Shit, dammit, fuck!" Evan mutters from behind me. "I'm sorry kid. I didn't realize I was hurtin' you this bad. You just... You just made me so damn angry. You shouldn't do that. You know I can't control my anger. I swear, you have no self-preservation."

I start shaking, and crying silently at this. He's said it all to me before, which just proves how right he is. It really is as much my own fault as it his his. Probably more so even.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Evan mutters under his breath, and drags me by my arm into our pathetically small, and dirty bathroom.

He pushes me into the shower, and then climbs in himself. He stands behind me, and turns on the water. It's warm enough, but the pressure sucks, and I know the hot water will only last maybe fifteen or twenty minutes.

I go to grab a washcloth, and our cheep body wash, when Evan stops me. "Let me," he says. He grabs the cloth, and lathers it up, and gently washes me all over. I love it when he's gentle like this. It makes me feel like I'm on top of the world.

He kneels down, and kisses me all over as he goes, and washes my body ever so gently. He jerks me off, something he rarely does, and my ecstatic feeling goes through the roof, then cleans me off. He stands, and washes my hair. He washes himself much more quickly, and I feel almost bad for not returning the favor of washing him, but Evan seems content to simply take care of me for now, so I let him.

He helps me out of the shower when the water gets cold, and dries me off before wrapping me in a towel, and leading me back to the bedroom. He's always like this after a hard night. It almost makes the rough treatment worth it.

He dresses me in my work clothes, and soon gets dressed himself. He has a stash of clothes at my house for occasions just like this one.

I check the clock; almost noon. That's not too surprising considering the hours I keep, but I still usually like to be awake before that so I can check on my mom.

I always make sure she's okay, and has taken her medicine before I leave the house, and today is no different.

"Hey mom," I greet as I walk into the kitchen where she's standing, and cooking. Today is a good day, it seems.

"Hello, Spencer," she greets, then looks over my shoulder at Evan. "Don't be rude. Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Oh, yes, um, Evan, this is my mother. Mom this is Evan," I awkwardly introduce, despite knowing that I've already done this numerous times. I'm just glad she remembers me this time. Evan approaches her gracefully, and shakes her hand, charming as ever.

"Hello, Evan," she greets. "Are you going to stay for lunch?"

"Are you sure it's no trouble, ma'am?" Evan asks, sounding like a polite southern gentleman. I almost snort with laughter because the pain between my legs sure says something else.

"No trouble at all. Spencer doesn't have near enough friends," she says happily.

"Mooooom," I groan sounding like the sixteen year old that I am. Evan just laughs lightly, and my mother ignores me.

My mother only made simple sandwiches, but it was enough. I love days like this. Days where I can wake up, and she's not too bad, and it feels like it used to.

Evan jokes politely with my mom, and they laugh with each other a little. It feels weird, I haven't heard my mother laugh in years, but I know she won't remember it long. I'm just glad she seems to remember me more often than not.

At one, I say, "Well, mom, I think Evan, and I have to go. We need to get to work.", and, okay, so maybe not necessarily true. Donny never sets up meetings this early in the day, but we're still expected to have his money by the end of the week, and with bills, and food, I can't afford to not work the street during the day. Most of us can't.

Evan, and I head out of the apartment, Evan's hand possessively wrapped around my neck, and over my shoulder until I shrug it off.

"Can't have anyone thinking I'm taken," I say in explanation to him when Evan looks offended at my removing his hand. "Not good for business."

"Suppose not," he agrees, but he still has that angry look in his eyes. We make our way to the corner, where one other person is already standing. Ethan, I believe his name is. We've talked a few times, and I've seen him around, but we've never been close.

"Hi," I say softly when we approach, raising my hand in a polite greeting. Evan glares at me, and looks like he wants to slap me right then, and there. He doesn't, but the heat in his look is enough to scare me into behaving. I look down at my feet submissively, and hope he understands my apology. He seems sated by it for now.

The day passes relatively quickly, and uneventfully. I give a few blow-jobs, and make some okay money. Evan, and Ethan both get in a few cars or go around the corner to an alley a few times, and even when Evan isn't there, I make no more attempts to speak with Ethan again.

When five o'clock rolls around I say my good-byes to Evan with a light kiss on the cheek, and leave to get my mother some dinner, and find Donny. Which never seems to be as difficult as I would like it to be.

I walk home from our corner quickly, and greet my mother, who's sitting on couch going through one of her old books. I smile. I'd like nothing more to go curl up next to her like I'm five instead of sixteen, and lay my head in her lap, and just listen to her read.

I walk into the kitchen, and throw together two sandwiches, and some Mac, and Cheese, which I've never really liked, but, hey, it's cheaps, and easy.

I finish cooking our sparse meal in about fifteen minutes, and my mother is still sitting, and reading her poetry book. I hate to interrupt her, but I know I have to.

"Mom?" I say quietly. She doesn't respond. "Mom," I repeat, a bit louder, and start walking into the living room. I crouch down in front of her, and gently place my hand on her shoulder. "Mom? Are you okay?"

She jumps violently, and lashes out with her hand, unintentionally (or so I'd like to believe) backhanding me across the face. "Don't touch me!" she yells. I fall backwards from where I had been crouched down, and land on my back. I touch my cheek, and feel blood welling up from where her wedding ring had hit me.

"Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me," she yells repeatedly. It's hardly the first time my mother had hit me, and it sure wasn't the first time I'd taken a backhand that made me bleed, but every time my mother raised her hand against me, rather she knows she is or not, hurts so much more than anything else., and it had started as such a wonderful day.

I leave my house reluctantly, and walk slowly downstairs to find Donny.

"Spencer," he greets when I approach him. I hate this. I hate him acting like he's not about to give me to some sick fuck who can't find his own partners, then take all the money from it, but I play along. I know the game by now.

"Donny," I say from behind clenched teeth, trying my best to fake a smile. He reaches up with one of his sausage-like fingers, and strokes my cheek, then sighs like he's very put upon.

"Such a shame that such a beautiful creature is a dirty whore," he says sadly. I flinch at the words alone . He removes his hand from my face with another sigh before speaking.

"You're meeting Mr. Brown at Lisbon, and Cambridge."

I inwardly cringe. I hate Mr. Brown, which I know for fact isn't the man's real name. He likes to tie me up. If it were up to me, bondage would be strictly off limits, but it isn't up to me.

"Spencer," Donny says in a warning tone when I don't respond to him.

"Yes, sir," I quickly say. "L-Lisbon, and Cambridge."

I almost want to let out an ironic laugh every time I have to meet a client at Lisbon Avenue. It's very easy to put the blame of why I'm in this situation on Alexa Lisbon. I know it's not fair, Donny would have eventually found me rather or not I'd been running home naked that day, but it's easy.

"Good," Donny says.

I bolt out of the room as fast as I can, slowing only once I'm completely out of the apartment building. I smooth down my too tight jeans, and nervously adjust the mesh top I'm wearing.

I walk over to my meeting, and wait for Brown to show up. I lean up against a concrete building behind me, and wait. I don't have to wait long. Within fifteen minutes, a black SUV is pulling up to the curb. I walk to the window, and wait for him to roll it down.

I lean seductively over into the car, and smirk suggestively at him. I can see the bulge of his erection from where I'm standing already.

"Hey, kid," he growls lowly. "You gettin' in or what?"

I widen my smirk. "Yes, sir."

I open the door, and slide into the passenger seat, and I don't even jump when his hand starts massaging my crotch.

I close my eyes, and lean my head against the headrest in his car. It's going to be a long night...

**Please review! :D  
**


	4. Chapter 4

I'm walking back from my 'meeting' with Mr. Brown when I, quite literally, run into Ethan.

"Oh my, God!" I say quickly. "I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to, I swear. Are you okay?"

"Kid, cool it, I didn't even fall down. You're good," he tells me in a slow drawl. I find myself getting annoyed at the use of the word "kid". Every fuckin' person calls me that!

"I'm not a kid!"

"How old are you?" he asks, sounding amused.

"..Sixteen," I mumble.

"You seem like a pretty smart person. Tell me, how old do you have to be to be an adult?"

"... Eighteen," I answer even more quietly.

"So, you're a..." he trails off with a smirk and quirked eyebrow, waiting for me to finish his sentence.

"Teenager," I say firmly, feeling like I won. He laughs at me.

"Whatever you say, kid."

"You're an ass," I tell him.

"I know."

He walks with me for a bit without talking, before saying, "You're Spencer, right? Evan's kid?"

"Yeah... kinda. I mean, a little bit." I reluctantly admit. Somehow, the way he says it makes it sound like a bad thing.

"Speaking of assholes, he's the lord of them."

"What?" I ask, not following him.

"Evan. Your. . . Boyfriend or whatever the fuck he is, is the lord of assholes."

I feel my face heat up in anger. I mean, who the hell does this guy think he is? He can't just go around insulting people like that!

"Look," I tell him, letting my anger seep into my voice, "You don't know me and you don't know Evan, so fuck off. I don't want to hear it. So, either shut up, or go the hell away."

"Hey, Spencer, I didn't mean it that way-"

"You didn't mean it what way? I'm pretty sure there's only one way to take that!" I yell.

"Kid-" he cuts off when I glare at the nickname. "Sorry, Spencer, he's using you."

"He's not!" I all but scream.

"I'm hardly in a position to tell someone how to live their life-"

"Damn right you're not!"

"But," he continues, ignoring my input, "you really need to get away from him. He's bad news. So, tell me this, when did you start sleeping with him?"

"Around the same time I started whoring," I tell him coldly. "And even then, he didn't fuck me until another year after that."

I feel a bit smug when I glance at Ethan and see his somewhat shocked expression, "That means you started this when you were at least fourteen or fifteen... that's just, well, way too fucking young. I was sixteen and still one of the youngest working the streets."

I felt less smug at that. In fact, I just felt embarrassed and dirty. I'd been even younger than what he was disgusted about.

"Well, fifteen isn't really all that much younger than sixteen..." I say in an attempt to make him a bit less shocked.

"I guess so... So, you were fifteen, though. Right? Cause I could have sworn you were out here when I started two years ago."

"Um, I wasn't fifteen but..."

"So how old were you?" he asks with a suspicious tone in his voice.

"Twelve," I mumble quietly.

"What?!"

"Twelve, alright? I was fuckin' twelve, poor, and too pretty for my own damn good, though I don't see how it's any of your business."

Ethan looks at me with pity filled eyes that I hate more than all the disgust in the world. I flip him off start walking faster to get home, leaving him in the dust.

I get home to find my mother, unsurprisingly, already asleep. I check the cabinets and refrigerator for food. They're almost empty and I figure Mom can eat for another day or two more before I have to go shopping. I can go without for a few days. It's not that big of a deal.

I lock up, though it won't do much good being that a small girl could kick our door and it would fall over, then head to bed after stripping out of my work clothes.

My bed always feels so large when I sleep alone. Evan stays at my house almost everyday, but I was in such a rush today to get home and away from Ethan, that I didn't even see him.

I drift to sleep after a while, and when I finally wake up it's past noon and my mom is awake. Nothing out of the ordinary. My stomach growls at me, but rent is due soon and I can't afford to run out of food just yet. I can last another day or so.

I tell my mom I'm going out for awhile and leave the apartment. I wander the streets for a bit trying to take a new route to the corner where I usually stand, trying to stall having to see Ethan just yet, even though that's ridiculous. I'm going to see him sooner or later, rather or not I walk around for awhile.

"Spencer!" I hear a bellowing voice yell from behind me. I turn and see Evan walking towards me. I stop moving and look at him as calmly as I can, wondering how he even managed to figure out where I was, being that I was standing in the middle of a dirty old alley between two brick buildings.

"Yes, Ev?" I reply, feeling oddly nervous. I shouldn't. I don't have anything to be nervous about with him. He loves me and I love him and as long as I don't fuck anything up, I'll be fine. I don't think I've fucked anything up recently, but I never actually know. He always catches my mistakes for me.

"What the hell?" he yells. He's really close to being near me now.

"What?" I ask, genuinely confused. Now he's right in front of me. For the first time, I realize how close I actually am to the back of the alley. He lifts his arms up and places them next to my head, down near my shoulder and leans in until I'm thoroughly trapped.

"E-Evan?" I stutter. I hate being closed in and he's really starting to scare me.

"Don't pretend you don't understand," he growls.

"Evan, I a-assure you, I don't-"

"Don't lie to me!" he yells with enough volume to have me flinching back into the brick wall behind me and squeezing my eyes shut. "I know what you did last, you little whore! I know you were all friendly with that Ethan guy."

"What? You think-" I start to say, shocked by his deductions, but then realize that I really shouldn't be surprised. "I just ran into him after my trick and he kept talking to me and eventually I just ran off. That was it. I love you, Evan. Not some other guy." I make my voice as soothing as possible, trying to disarm him.

"Why was he talking to you, Spencer? Why was he bugging you in the first place?" Evan asks, looking just a little less agitated.

"I ran into him-"

"Ran into him? As in, 'saw him in the street' or a literal 'plowed him down with your skinny little body' ran into?"

"Um... well the, uh, second one," I answer thinking about lying, but knowing that he won't believe me if I tell him that. He'll know that I was lying to him, he always does.

His hand rears back away from the wall and smashes back, right next to my ear. I flinch and turn my cheek into the wall, feeling the rough bricks scratch against me.

"You fucking whore," he says lowly, terrifying me. To my horror, I feel tears running town my cheeks.

"I-It was an accident," I tell him frantically. "You know how clumsy I am-"

"Of course it was," he says coldly, "you and your cute little body didn't just decide to plow down another man. Tell me, Spencer, how did his body feel against yours?"

"It wasn't like that-"

"It wasn't? I don't believe you. That's the oldest damn move in the book, Spencer. Running into a guy you like," he says. I'm outright sobbing by now.

"I-I'm sorry," I hiccup, "I-I didn't kn-know-"

"Shh, baby," Evan soothes suddenly, exponentially calmer. He runs one of his hands down the side of my face, leaving the other next to my head. "I know. I know. You're still just a kid, babe, and you didn't know any better, but that's why I'm here. Someone's gotta teach you right from wrong."

I wipe my eyes with my palm, and nod before throwing myself into his arms for a hug. I clutch desperately at his shirt and sob into his chest. His arms come off the wall and encircle me, holding me against him.

"There, there, sweetie," he says gently, "it's okay. But, you know, I'm still going to have to punish you for this, right?"

I nod into his shirt.

"I love you," he tells me.

"I love you, too," I mumble.


	5. Chapter 5

I'm so damn hungry. I try to distract myself from the hunger with numbers, and formula, and problems, but that doesn't seem to be working. I hadn't been able to work during the day today because of my run in with Evan, and I don't have enough money to feed both my mom, myself, and manage to pay the bills on time. The only thing right now that even has a chance at distracting me from my hunger, are Evan's arms wrapped tightly about me.

When I'd first starting working for Donny, he'd let me suck him off or have sex in exchange for the bills being paid. As I'd gotten older though, Donny decided that I was responsible enough to actually be able to get cash to pay the bills, yet still expects sex from me.

Maybe I could mooch off of Evan. I always hate doing that, but if I'm willing to sell my body on the streets, I might as well ask for some food from my boyfriend. I think he's my boyfriend at least...

He's just so mad at me right now though. He hates me, I'm sure of it. How could he not? I still don't entirely understand why speaking with Ethan was as bad as Evan is saying it was, but I've never really understood social rules, or relationships in general, so he must be right. I just have to trust him.

I finally get out of bed, snaking my way out of Evan's arms, and head into the bathroom. He doesn't wake up, which is strange, but I feel a coil of relief form in my chest. I'm not ready to deal with him just yet.

I stare at myself in the mirror for a second, and have to choke back tears when I see the pathetic image of myself staring back. One of my eyes is black from the beating Evan gave me yesterday. My lip is swollen, but besides those two things, the rest of my face is painfully thin. I can see my cheek bones like they're about ready to pop out of face. Come to mention it, all of me is painfully thin. Not a nice attractive slim, a disgusting malnourished tiny. My hair is badly cut, and greasy... I'm just overall, unattractive. Ugly, if you will. I can't figure out why anyone would ever like me, let alone pay good money to have sex with me.

I make myself turn away from my reflection, and get in the shower. After a few moments of standing under the hot water, I hear the bathroom door creak open, and Evan quickly joins me in the shower, standing behind me.

"Hey, Spency," he says sweetly, turning me around to look at him. He strokes his hand down my face, and smiles at me. I wince when his hand trails over my black eye. "Does that still hurt?" he asks, poking at it now. I fight back tears because, yes, it goddamn hurts!

I nod my head, and squint my eyes to try, and keep my tears from falling.

"I'm sorry, Spencey, but you know I had to do it," he says., and he looks genuinely sorry. I know he means it.

"I know, Ev," I say, leaning into his chest. His hands sneak down my back, and to my buttocks. I want to tell him to stop, but I know better. I just close my eyes even tighter, and let him slip his fingers into me...

Later, when we're both sated, and content, we lounge on my bed much longer than we should.

"I should go, Evan," I tell him. "We're low on money, and I need to eat soon."

"Sure," Evan says, not really paying any attention, and just waving me on. I slowly get dressed, and start to leave.

"Okay," I say as I'm about to go out the door. "I'm leaving now..."

"Bye, Spencer," Evan says dismissively.

"And I'm going out the door right now," I continue, hoping for some acknowledgment.

"Are you going to leave or not?" Evan snaps at me. "Because if you are, get on with it."

I feel my eyes water again in hurt, and I want to curse at myself for being such a fucking girl. Why can't I just grow up, and realize that not everyone's lives revolve around me?

I slam the door behind me, and all but run from my apartment. I slow myself down when I reach the streets, and take deep breaths to calm myself. When I compose myself enough to move on, I make my way to my corner, and stand there with Ethan, whom I'm actively trying to ignore.

I get in the car with a few people, and give a few blow-jobs, but not any actual sex. Donny has me set up to meet a client today, and he doesn't like sloppy seconds.

After a few hours of standing next to Ethan, and saying nothing, I start to get dizzy, and light headed. I sway on my feet, and find myself leaning against the wall for support.

"Spencer?" Ethan asks, turning to look at me. "You alright, kid?"

"Fine," I say from behind clenched teeth. "Never better."

Then I proceed to promptly pass out.

"Spencer! Spencer!"

"Mnmmnggg," I groan as I come awake, wondering where the hell I am, but soon I get to tired for that, and lean my head back to fall asleep again.

"Hey, kid!" the voice yells again. "Spencer? Come on, don't do that. Wake up. Don't fall asleep on me!" I can't figure out who's talking to me. An angel maybe? Yeah, that must be it. An angel's talking to me. My mom always did tell me that they were looking out for me.

"Aaanngggeell," I groan incoherently.

"Angel?" the voice says, then gives a snort of laughter. "Not hardly, kid. Just another street whore."

Then, everything comes crashing back to me. I groan again as I try to sit up, and feel a sharp pain to my head. I get nauseous, and turn over, only to dry heave.

"When was the last time you ate?" the voice says. I look at him, but there re three, so I really can't tell who it is.

"I don't know. Few days ago?" I mumble.

I hear the voice take a deep breath, then its arms are underneath me, and lifting me up. I squeak at the surprise of being lifted.

"Hey!" I yell. "Put me down!" I kick my feet back, and forth, trying to get him to put me down, but he doesn't.

"None of that," he says. "You need food, and are in no condition to be going anywhere on your own." I pout, then look up the voice's face again. This time, there's only one, and I recognize it.

"Ethan!" I yell. "Put me right the fuck down!"

I was scared. Does this count as cheating on Evan? If just talking to the guy does, I'm sure letting him carry me around does, too. I don't want to cheat on Evan.

"No," Ethan told me simply. "I'm taking you to my apartment, and getting something in your stomach."

"You don't have to-" I start to say.

"No. I most certainly don't. I'm not going to sit by, and watch a friend starve to death when I could have helped him."

"I'm not your friend. You're a guy that bugged me into telling you my past, then likes to sit back, and pity me. That does not make us friends," I told him coldly.

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. I'm still feeding you."

"I don't need your damn pity!" I screamed at him. "Just because I'm too poor to feed myself, and that I was a prostitute at age twelve, does not mean you get to pity me, and act like I'm your little pet project."

"I'm not pitying you, I'm helping you. Haven't you ever just wanted to help someone because it's the right thing to do?"

"Yes, but people don't feel that way about me. You have some ulterior motive here if you're not doing this out of pity," I tell him.

"You are far too jaded for a sixteen year old."

"Oh, like you weren't jaded when you were my age," I scoff at him. He just looks at me sadly which infuriates me more.

"We're almost to my place," he tells me softly, and I feel a little guilty for treating him like I did.

He walks me into the same apartment complex that I live in, the ones that Donny owns, and carries me into a little one bedroom thing on the first floor. It's about in the same condition as mine, but in seems that Ethan takes better care of his stuff than I do.

He drops me gently on a couch, and walks to kitchen briefly before coming back with a jello cup, and a spoon.

"Jello!" I yell reaching for it, forgetting my anger at the sight of Jello. I hadn't eaten the stuff in years, despite it being my favorite food. I grabbed the spoon, and dug in, groaning at the taste.

Ethan raises his eyebrows at me, and I blush when I finish the Jello, and realize what a child I'd made of myself.

"So, I take it you like Jello?" he asks.

I nod. He walks into the kitchen for a moment, and brings back a pack of Jello, and another one of chocolate pudding.

"I don't want to give you anything more solid just yet," he tells me, and starts giving me pack after pack of Jello, and pudding, and I just keep putting it away, setting a couple aside for my mother. When I'm finished, though, I feel incredibly bad.

"I- I shouldn't have-" I start to stutter. "Th-that was too much. I shouldn't have eaten so much..."

"Shh," Ethan says, calming me, and sitting on the couch beside me. "It's okay. You needed it. Perhaps it wasn't the healthiest meal but it was all I had that you would have been able to digest."

"It was only a couple days without food... it's not like I was starving."

"A couple says is too many, and, yes, it counts as starving yourself."

"I still drank water, which only counts as near-total starvation. In history, there have been cases where people have lived months or even years on near-total starvation... well, kind of. It's difficult for us to know the caloric intake during those times, so it's unknown rather the instances I'm thinking of count as near-total starvation, though they're very close. Most people can survive for about four weeks with no food, and only water. Really, the body's ability to metabolize food, and live on very small amounts of sustenance is amazing. Ghandi survived twenty-one days with no food while he was in his 70's!"

Ethan just blinks at me, and I feel even more embarrassed after that. Evan always did tell me that my intelligence was unattractive, and I figure he must have been pretty right since everyone in my high-school seemed to agree."

"You're smart," Ethan says after a moment. "Like, crazy smart. How come you're doing this?"

"I don't really have much of a choice," I tell him.

"Why not? You could go to college. You could get out of here!"

"I have to take care of my mother," I tell him.

"Why can't she take care of herself?"

I take a deep breath. "She's, um, she's schizophrenic," I say in a rush.

"Why can't she be institutionalized?" he asks.

"Because she'd be put in a state facility, and I'm not willing put her through that. Also I'd be placed in foster care, which I really don't want to do myself."

Ethan looks at me sadly again.

"When I'm eighteen, though, I'll have power of attorney. I can have her placed somewhere that will take care of her."

"Promise me," Ethan says. "Let's make a pact. When you're eighteen, you, and I will get out of here together, got it?"

"What?"

"You, and me. I'll help you out of here. It's easier if you have a friend. Let's shake on it. When you're eighteen, and I'm twenty, we'll both get accepted into college, you'll find a suitable sanitarium for your mother, and the world will open up for us, okay?"

I laugh. "Sure. Sure, a pact. We'll get out of this hell hole."

"Good," he says, and extends his hand. I shake it and our deal is made.


	6. Chapter 6

Even at 2 in the morning, Nevada is freaking hot.

I learned that many times over during quite a few summers, a lesson that I'm learning once again, trudging home in the wicked heat. The city is still active, and lights are still on everywhere. It smells like smoke, sex, and drugs. The same as it always has.

My apartment door is locked, but that doesn't really matter, as I know exactly how to hit the door just above the lock with my fist to get it to pop right open.

I make sure to be quiet when I walk in, so as not to disturb my mother, who will be asleep by now. Of course, Evan isn't. He's sitting on the couch with the TV on some stupid local channel, since we don't have cable. He found the thing sitting outside somewhere, and brought it home. I hooked it up, and, even though I'm not a huge fan of television, it can make a good distraction.

"Hello, Evan," I greet. He's moved into my apartment now. It wasn't a distinct decision or even a day really, he just started staying over longer, and longer, until he eventually just stopped leaving.

"Hey, Spencie," he says happily. "Come 'ere!" I walk over, and start to sit on the couch next to him, but he pulls me down on his lap instead. I squeal, and I blush when Evan laughs at me because of it.

"Not funny," I grump, only because I know he's in a good mood, and will laugh with me.

"Is too, pumpkin. You're just so adorable. Like a kitten!"

"I'm a kitten?!" I ask, outraged.

"An annoyed kitten."

"Hmph."

He laughs, and playfully nibbles my ear. He whispers, "You know what I'm in the mood for, kitten?", and grinds his already hard cock against my ass, like I couldn't feel it when I first sat down.

"The same thing you're always in the mood for?" I say instead with a teasing grin.

"Damn straight, kitten."

I turn, and face him, straddling his lap. I learned my lesson about fighting the sex, and would much rather have it on my terms than his. I grind against his groin, and grin wickedly at him, before undoing his pants, and pulling out his cock. I work it with my hands for awhile, before stripping, and stretching myself for him. Then, I ride him into a blissful completion.

"Damn, kitten," he tells me, and I grimace, because, really, the kitten thing is getting old. "I love it when you take control like that. Fuckin' hot."

"I know," I tell him cockily, wearing a little smirk.

"Come here," he says, pushing me down on the couch, and laying on top of me. We spend the rest of the night having nice, gentle sex. I fall asleep curled up in his arms. It's moments like these that I can spend with him that make me want to actually stay with him. I love him when he's like this, enough that I can forgive everything else. Because, that's how love works, right? You learn to forgive the things you don't like, and relish the things you love.

* * *

I wake up the next afternoon still curled up on the couch with Evan. He's already awake, playing with strands of my hair.

"Mmmm," I groan, stretching.

"Hi, sleepy-head," he says.

"Urghh," is the most intelligible thing I can manage. He laughs at me, and sits up, so I do, too.

We sit there for a moment, before I decide to take a quick shower. Of course, Evan decides to join me, too, and that shower becomes a lot less quick than I had initially planned.

When I get out, Evan picks out my clothes for the day, and I wordlessly put them on.

"Come on, kitten," he tells me when I'm finished, and leads me out of the apartment, and to our corner.

The day goes as most do, with Evan, Ethan, and I all standing on the same corner we always do. I stand in the middle while Evan, and Ethan do their best to glare each other to death. No one speaks a word, with the exception of Evan pulling me over towards himself to whisper dirty things in my ear, and grope me a bit. \

We're each called into cars a few times, but more often just led around back to an alley. You'd swear more people came to Vegas because of the prostitution as opposed to the gambling.

At one point, once dusk hit, Evan gets in the car with a man Ethan, and I know to be one of his regulars. He'll be gone for a good thirty minutes, and I always feel myself relax when this happens.

Ethan, and I are silent for half that time when Ethan inevitably brings up my relationship with Evan.

"Spencer, why do you stay with that guy?" he asks.

"Not this again! Ethan, I've told you-"

"And still don't understand! The guy's an ass. He beats you, Spencer. He fucking rapes you!"

"He doesn't rape me!" I yell back.

"He doesn't? Than what do call having to have sex with a guy you don't like and don't want to have sex with, because you know he'll beat you if you don't?",

"Really?" I say scathingly, latching onto my last defense mechanism: anger. "You're talking to me about having to have sex when I don't want to? Last I checked, we were both standing on street corner selling our asses for money."

"Yes," he said. "For. Money. You get nothing out of your relationship with Evan."

"I get protection," I tell him. "Besides, he loves me."

"Ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?"

"I do not have Stockholm!" I yell loudly enough for people walking across the street to turn, and stare at us.

"You deserve better than him, kid," he tells me.

"Whatever."

"I'm serious!" he says. "Has he ever kissed you in a way that makes you feel special. At all?"

"What?"

"Has he ever kissed you? Like this," Ethan says, and I should know, I really should know that knows the time to get away. Instead, I stand stock still while his lips meet mine. Eventually, when I pull myself out of my shock, I start kissing back even though my brain is screaming at me to push him away.

We part as a car calls Ethan away, and he leaves, which is probably for the better, but I can't help but feel saddened, and empty with him gone.

Then, suddenly, I find myself pushed against the alley wall. My head jerks back, and I feel it bounce off the brick, and I reorient myself just to see Evan's angry, twisted face above my own.

"You fucking slut!" he yells. "Couldn't wait for me to leave before you climb all over someone else! Fuck, Spencer, I knew you were a whore by profession, but not by nature. Is your mommy even all that sick? I bet you do this cause you like it, don't you, not because you're mom needs support-"

"Shut up!" I yell. "Shut up!" Bringing my mom in was just too much.

"What did you say to me you little whore?!"

"I told you to shut the fuck up! You don't know shit!"

He brings back his fist, and hits me right in the face then grabs me by the collar, and leads me into some completely deserted alley. No one could hear me, and if, by chance, they did, they'd ignore it. I feel myself slip into panic, and have to control my breathing.

"St-stop!" I yell! "Stop! Please, Evan, I'm sorry!"

"Too late for that," he says, his face splitting into a grin crueler than I've ever seen it before. He pulls out a switch-blade, and I start struggling even harder in Evan's grip.

He holds it against my throat, getting ready to kill me, but I kick him where it counts, and run off, looking for something that could possibly help me, moving on adrenaline, and fear more than anything.

Evan catches up with me all too quickly, and tackles me to the ground. He pulls out the blade, and I catch his arms before he can get it to my body, and try to buck him off of me.

"Not gonna work, Spencie," he says with an evil glint in his eyes. I feel an even stronger spike of fear, and start struggling even harder. I manage to twist his wrist enough to get him drop the blade.

I scramble out from him, and grab the knife before he can. He might be stronger, but I can mover faster.

He jumps on top of me yet again, grabbing the upper position, but before he can use it to his advantage, I take the knife, and stab him with it, blindly striking out with my hands.

I close my eyes when I strike, instinctively not wanting to see the act of violence carried out by my hands, so I feel surprise at the amount of blood pooling onto me, and the strange gurgling sound Evan made before he fell on top of me. Motionless.

With a sound of disgust, and terror I flip him over onto his back next to me to see what happened. I'd hit him square in the neck. He was dead. He was dead almost the second the knife was removed.

"Oh, god," I say to myself. "Oh my god."

I turn over, and throw up for a long time. Long enough that I'm surprised I even had that much on my stomach.

"I killed him. I killed a man. I took a man's life."

Soon, though, the guilt changes relief.

"It's over. It's over." I find myself laughing like a madman. "It's really really over."


	7. Chapter 7

Evan's murder was never really looked into. He was a prostitute, and, as sad as it was, he wasn't considered quite as important as other crimes. Plus, it was quickly deduced that his injuries were from an act of self defense. Either way, I was out of state by then.

The second I had enough money, I put my mother in Bennington's Sanitarium. I felt awful, but it had to be done.

I also managed to get into Cal Tech on a full ride the fall after Evan's death. Surprisingly, Ethan did, too.

Within a year, I'd already managed to get my first PhD in Mathematics, and a bachelor's in Psychology. I worked nonstop, and Ethan called me a freak of nature. I was just thankful that I'd gotten all those college credits in high-school.

The next year, when I was nineteen, I got my bachelor's in sociology, and began working on my PhD in engineering. Ethan was in his sophomore year. We were both aiming for the FBI, yet neither of us had yet decided on an area to work on.

In my third year, when I was twenty, and Ethan was twenty-two, I completed my Engineering degree (there wasn't much left to do on it), and got my last doctorate in Chemistry while Ethan was in his Junior year. I had finally decided which area of the Bureau to go into, after I saw an amazing lecture by one SSA Jason Gideon. I had asked an embarrassing amount of questions during the lecture, and afterward, Agent Gideon pulled me aside to talk to me.

"Son, what's your name?"

"Um, Sp-Spencer Reid, sir," I stuttered awkwardly.

"How many more years of college do you have left?"

"Well, I technically already could be finished. I just finished up my second bachelor's in sociology."

"How old are you?" he asked, his eyebrows lifting high on his forehead.

"Twenty, sir," I told him.

"And what's your other degree in?"

"I hold another BS in psychology, and PhD's in Mathematics, Engineering, and Chemistry," I told him, trying to sound modest.

"Wow, kid-"

"I'm not a kid," I snapped at him, the immediately regretted my actions. What if that hurt my chances of becoming an agent...

Gideon just laughed. "Good to see you have some backbone. You asked some great questions in there. We could use a mind like yours in the BAU."

"Really, sir?!" I had asked, overly excited.

"Yes, we could. Look, here's my number," he said, pulling out a business card. "Give this some more thought, and if you're sure this is what you want to do, call me. Get into the academy, and when you're finished, I can pull some strings, and promote you directly to the BAU. I like you for some reason, Spencer."

I smiled like I'd never smiled before.

Getting into the Bureau wasn't much fun itself. The background check was insanely thorough, and I found myself worrying if I would even pass it. I didn't have anything on my record, but it still required every address I'd ever lived it, past employers, two friends from the past addresses, and proof of all of that, and, somehow, I got through that without anyone realizing that I was an ex-prostitute.

The only other thing that worried me, was the physical portion. I had to get contacts because agents can't wear glasses, and I exercised like a crazy person to prepare for the academy, and managed to pass the entrance exams, along with Ethan.

Ethan dropped out on the first day.

One year later, I'm twenty-one, and getting ready to step into the BAU offices for the first time as an agent, and am more terrified than I have ever been in my entire life. I take a deep breath, and walk through the doors into what I know is called the "Bull Pen.", and I can see why. People are everywhere. There are desks set up in the middle, and an upper platform with some doors leading to what I can only guess are offices, and conference rooms. Everyone is milling around with coffee, and papers. I have no idea what the hell I'm supposed to be doing.

"Yo! Kid!" I hear. My first reaction is to scowl, and adamantly insist that I am not a kid. I don't. Instead, I turn to see a very large mixed man with a small spattering of hair on his head, and a shockingly friendly expression on his face. From the tone, I'd expected someone, well, scary.

"Y-yes?" I stutter.

"You the new guy?"

"I-I guess so-"

"You guess so? Are you the new Profiler or not?"

"Yeah. I-I'm the new profiler," I answer, trying my best to not stutter in front of him.

"My name's Derek Morgan. You can just call me Morgan. Welcome to the team, kid." He smiles brightly at me, causing me to smile back. "I'll show you around."

"Th-thanks," I say.

"You're Reid, right?" he asks. I almost say no, not used to being addressed by my last name, but I catch myself, and nod. "Cool. How old are you, kid? No offense, but you look maybe twelve years old."

I scowl at him. "I'm twenty-one."

"So, still a kid?" he says with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Not a kid," I say.

"Whatever you say, Pretty Boy."

"That's worse than kid!" I yell.

"So, you're Pretty Boy then. But, seriously, how did you get into the BAU at age twenty-one? What are you, a genius or something?"

"I don't think intelligence can be quantifiably measured, but I have an IQ of 187, and hold three PhD's along with two Bachelor's."

"So, you're a freaky genius?" he says, after looking at me in shock for a moment.

I shrug. "I guess so."

"So, you want me to show you around or what?" he asks after a moment of silence.

"Yeah."

"Alright then. Over here," he says, putting an arm around my shoulder, and leading me to a side room of the Bull Pen, "is the break room. That coffee machine will be your best friend., and this," he continues, pulling me towards a desk. "is yours. The one across from it is mine. Here, I'll show you the conference room."

He leads me up the elevated area, and into one of the rooms. It has a large conference table in the middle, and glass walls.

"This, is JJ's office," he continues, leading me to yet another door that opens to reveal a small cluttered area with a pretty young blonde girl going through files at the desk. She looks up when Derek opens the door. "She's our media liaison."

"Hi," she says happily, standing up. "You're Spencer Reid, right?"

"Um, uh, y-yeah," I stutter nervously. I seem to have lost the little amount of social skills I do have today...

"Well, welcome to the team, Spence., and don't let Morgan get to you. He means well," she tells me with a wink. For some reason, I feel myself glow when she calls me 'Spence.' I've been called so many degrading, sad things before, but never Spence. It feels... nice.

Derek shuts the door to JJ's office, and we continue to one that says, "SSA Aaron Hotchner" on the front. He knocks three times before pushing the door in without waiting for a response, and on the inside, Gideon, and a very harsh looking man that I'd never seen before look up. The other man has dark hair, dark eyes, and a frown that doesn't look like it ever comes off.

"Spencer," Gideon says with a smile. "Welcome. This is Aaron Hotchner. He's our Unit Chief."

Hotchner stands to shake my hand, but I just wave from where I'm standing. I don't think I could stand to touch him. He doesn't seem surprised.

Of course, stupid, I tell myself, he's a profiler. He's trained in reading behavior in people.

I feel my chest tighten at that. I'm suddenly sure that they're going to realize that I'm not Spencer Reid, genius extraordinaire, but a common street whore from Las Vegas. They're going to know every crime I ever committed, and every man I ever let fuck me-

"Hi, Spencer. I'm Aaron Hotchner. But you can just call me Hotch."

Hotch is wearing a smile on his previously harsh face, and I realize that everything might just turn out fine.


	8. Author's Note

I've had a lot of people asking for a sequel or wondering if this story is complete. It is. Where I stopped writing is where Canon picks up.

To me, there have always been a ton of plot holes in Reid's story (i.e, how he took care of his mother when he was only ten, how he went to college and got his degree, etc) It's implied in the show that Spencer had no idea where his father was or what he was doing, so the likelihood that he was sent money to help from his father is low. This story was a way of me filling in some of the things that the show hasn't explained well, in my opinion. The rest of the story would just be canon.

That being said, I am considering a series of one-shots illustrating various parts of the show written from Reid's perspective, explaining his reactions and whatnot in relation to what I wrote. I'm also thinking about a sequel that deals with his early days in the FBI and learning to deal with his past.

Thanks for your time and I hope you were able to enjoy my story! :D


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